


bequeath

by orphan_account



Series: professional environment [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, Freeform, Original Team, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:31:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2308094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he lies. hector dubois was, is, untraceable, untouchable, and he is the only one who knows it. he crumples his letter and throws out his good fountain pen because he disgusts himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bequeath

**Author's Note:**

> note: the difference between the works pertaining to portrayal of character and the works contributing to the canon i have created is the way they are written. all the posts introducing the characters will be written like this one and like inheritance. i prefer a more relaxed reading experience for these rather than for the high-octane in-universe interactions between characters and their environments.
> 
> hector dubois, the red mercenary in charge of espionage and of general ill-will.

he kills his first man at an age barely old enough to be considered one himself. it’s an accident, sure, and he is never convicted for it, but hector laurent dubois, a man of sinew and  a coarse, leathery heart, can’t help but admit that he feels nothing shy of relief.

killing, he thinks, is easy. in his head, he’d imagined it would be much messier, much more adrenaline-filled and desperate.

(many years later, hector would have a chain-link fence digging welts into his scalp and a long serrated blade to his throat on a battlefield he had never intended to sully with his blood, and only then would he realize that killing is only messy if the one you kill wishes to keep living.)

it becomes his hobby not long after that, dabbling in shady deals to those in need for what he would never admit to be very little pay, a dry-cleaned suit here and a hotel shower there. he does it for the satisfaction. the thrill of the chase, though there was very little, and the pride in fulfillment of his duty. he does it because he can.

this is how he begins his career in espionage, a profession he isn’t afraid to brag about when presented with the chance. he is good at what he does. so good, in fact, that there is not a single criminal record that can be tied to him.

(there are plenty, surely, but none of them have his name, have his face, have anything that could tie a crime to hector dubois.)

\---

he meets audrey when he is aging, thirty-something and feeling too young to feel as old as he does. she has children when he meets him, and he loathes them. loathes children in all respects, would rather have never set his eyes upon them. he stays with her, settles, and he begins to loathe them a little less. he makes love to her, truly and disgustingly, lovingly, and to the mother of so many he bestows (or as he’d like to think, curses with) another.

she calls the baby riley, and hector cannot, will not admit that he adores the smell, the weight in his arms, the soft squirming of a child. of his child. he had never considered becoming domesticated, though he was never opposed to the idea. riley tries to escape hector’s grasp often and will not sit still for anything, but he does enjoy getting soapy in the cleaned-out sink and occasionally wraps fat, clumsy fingers around hector’s. he holds riley for as long as he can, or at least until audrey tells him it’s naptime.

he finds solace in the curves of her laugh lines (and she does that often) and the feeling of her hand, dainty but calloused from her late nights on shifts she hates, in his. he admits one evening that he loves her, and she takes on a look he has never seen on her. she nods at him, kisses his palm, and tells him she loves naptime as much as riley does. hector knows what she means.

he leaves before riley, his speedy toddler traipsing around on insecure legs already, has a chance to remember him. it is for the best, he tells himself, and knowing the reality is the only thing that keeps him sleeping at night.

he begins to wear his balaclava again, and that makes him feel better.

\---

reliable demolitions and excavations, red, offers him a position. he agrees reluctantly, and only after he arrives does he consider that he may very well die with no closure. he decides after months of tearing limbs from men weaker than him and having his own limbs crudely broken and snapped that he honestly does not mind.

he writes to her, just once. he tells her that oh, he does love her and oh, he does so wish he could see their--her--riley again. he doesn’t mean it when he says that it was probably for the best, that he was a danger to the family and that she knew he would have to go someday. she knew everything, after all. his past, his present, all forms of secrets he’d kept under lock and key. he lies. hector dubois was, is, untraceable, untouchable, and he is the only one who knows it. he crumples his letter and throws out his good fountain pen because he disgusts himself.

he has a very hard time conversing with his teammates. there is one in particular he can think of, a man called gene, who is steadfast and persistent in his attempts to befriend him. he finds himself thinking about this a lot, about what it would mean to open himself up to this short and none-too-flattering man he so desperately wishes he did not consider a possible ally, maybe even a friend.

gene is very smart. he stands a head or two shorter than hector and he always has a vague shadow of facial hair. he is unsanitary, and his accent is thick, lazy, and terrible to listen to, but he makes good barbeque and even better sandwiches.

(around the time he discovers this, hector discovers that dish and dinner duty are the two best duties to sign up for in the base. he gets up on the first of the month before three in the morning on some occasions just to pen his name in.)

\---

there is no mistaking the whiny, insistent, repulsive accent as audrey’s. it seeps into him, digs at his eardrums with an ice pick until he finds it difficult to bear.

his opponents recruit a scout, a speedy youngster with a pair of sinewy legs and a toothy, cocksure smile. their first encounter is strange. hector is reloading his gun, breathing hard against a pile of crates when a pair of baseball cleats (what else?) kick up red dirt around the corner and create a cloud in the air.

for a moment, just a moment, the scout stops, leans against the flimsy, bullet riddled wall of the building they have both chosen as cover. he lets his gun, an interesting piece of work hector would like to see in action, kick up yet another cloud of dust as it drops beside one cleat.

hector gets a good, long look at him. there is no doubt he is his mother’s son. his jaw curves in the same way, and his deep breaths expose a set of lines indented into skin from one too many jokes told, two too many ridiculous feats attempted to carve them there. the scout spits and wipes the moisture across the dirt with the toe of his shoe, wiping one dusty arm across his face to clear the sweat there. each time he opens his mouth and takes in the hot, dry air, it makes hector’s spine itch. damn it if he doesn’t have her teeth, bucked and just crooked enough for her to call them ‘messy’. the boy turns his head, however, and hector can see the damage he’s caused, the sharp eyebrows and the eyes that, like his own, are light and cautious, curious but only just. his heart swells with a pride he did not know he was capable of anymore.

(his mother’s eyes, a soft, watery brown, hector is thankful are not present.)

a shift in the boxes to his left, a slight creak, sends the young man in blue on high alert. he picks up his gun, fast as a whip, and peers over at the place hector is sitting. after a moment, he loses his adrenaline, muscles in his arm relaxing and gun falling against his thigh.

after a minute or so, riley leaves. hector watches him go, rising as the red clouds dissipate in the slight breeze. the sun is setting already, just barely beginning to dip lower, and hector knows soon the battle will be called. he reveals himself, flipping a switch on his watch with a lazy gesture, only after he can no longer see the figure darting away.

\---

“oh, riley, baby, is this you?” her voice catches him off-guard. he gasps into the receiver. “are you alright?”

he gathers his resolve. “hello, my little, er, audrey.”

there is a commotion on the other end, as though she has dropped the phone. he gives it a moment, can hear her swearing at the phone from a distance away.

“sorry,” she says. “i dropped the phone.”

he laughs, deep in his chest. his heart, less leathery now, more soggy and faded, aches and beats and breaks and jumps to his throat all at once.

 


End file.
